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Cloudrifts at Twilight 



BY 



WILLIAM BATCHELDER GREENE 

AUTHOR OF " REFLECTIONS AND MODERN MAXIMS " 



32 



NEW YORK AND LONDON 

G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 

®^c Knickerbocker ^rtss 

1888 




^ 






COPYRIGHT BY 

WILLIAM BATCHELDER GREENE 
1888 



Press of 

G. P. Putnam's Sons 

New York 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Laryat 3 

Res Judicata 45 

Tenebr^ . 47 

Parnassus 51 

Americanus 53 

" Not Yet Sixteen " 56 

An Invocation 58 

Knowledge is Nothing ; Else Man could Create . 60 

Miserabile Dictu ! 63 

The Meshes 65 

The Toast to New England 67 

The Link , 69 

The Ballad of Lamentations 70 

The New. Pons Asinorum 77 

The New Prologue in Heaven to an American 

Faust 78 

Mother 88 

" Heart OF My Heart " 89 

The Song of the Birds 90 

iii 



IV 



CONTENTS. 



The Night, to Winged Souls, is Day 

The Existence Dual . 

" The Lights of Night " 

Paris the Ton 

' ' A Lonely Stork Looks down the Rhine 

A Word with an Old Companion 

Nolens Volens 

The Earth 's Athirst . 

The Dance of Life 

Through a Glass Darkly 

Dies Non 

The Spirit on the Wall 

The Beckoning Depths 

Heart of Grace . 

"What 'sin A Name?" 

The Game of Chess 

"Of Time" . 



PAGE 
96 

100 

102 
104 
106 
108 
IIO 
112 
114 
116 
118 
119 
123 
125 
127 
128 
131 



PROEM. 



Endowered bliss of Earth's rejoicing tide, 
Whose red gold light alone is poesie, 
Whose tinted coming buries deep the snows, 
Whose gay horizon promises thy kiss 
On every frozen cheek turned heavenward^ 
Thou Queen incessant of God's harmony ! 

Reviving Spring, a toast to thy fresh lips ! 
Thy blush is music, and e'en heaven lurks 
In thy thick perfumed hair that hangs about 
Thy flowered shoulders like enchanted rain ; 
Thy sigh is song and thy soft breath a balm, 
Dispelling death — soft loosing his cold grip, 
Unravelling darkness in the heart of pain, 
As o'er dank waters rings the laugh of dawn. 
In thy glad, eyes the sun should never set, 
For the stars' sake, since they are dumb to men. 
Why should man sin or woman sinless fall 
When thou dost yearly weep in bliss o'er both, 
Decked in deep velvet of God's vernal pomp ? 



LARYAT. 

SUGGESTED BY THE LEGEND OF TANNIIAUSER. 



\ 



LARYAT. 

Land of perennial Spring, 

Blest haven's dells 

Whose Easter bells 

O'er placid waters ring, 

O sea-chained Isle ! 

Green anchored plot 

Of rose-lipped smile — 

Soft sea-nymph's kiss — 

Sweet dimple — epitome of Paradise 

Art thou : foam-nestling nest of Thaura ! 

Whose feet the feathery sea-down laves, 

Whose hands are spray in bloom of Flora — 

Oasis 'mid the nodding waves — 

O pearl in emerald without price ! 

5 



6 LARYAT. 

Soft fly the zephyrs to thy bosom's shade 

To sip of frail-cupped roses perfume laid ; 

With the same breath, the birds above 

From out the blue, 

Of rainbow hue, 

Come too — with hymnlettes of their love. 

While from a flor-cowled grotto sunk to 

sight. 
Inclining low to God's commands 
The gray priest raises quivering hands. 
Praying that Sacred Love may ne'er take 

flight— 
And that it be the bid of fate 
That Princess Estha rule the State. 

" Princess Estha and her train. 
Rulers of Thaura and the main." 

The King had not been shrouded long, 
Yet was his image stamped in song 



LAR YA T. 7 

Of lyric breath. 

Outliving death 

Was Estha, with the King's eyes pure : 

Resounding, Thaura's hills acclaim 

The daughter in the father's name. — 

And dew-eyed mounts she to the ivory 

throne, 
While all the Bards kneel prone to greet — 
To kiss her snowy, trembling feet ; 
Entwining music's airy light, if lone 
Of soul, about her angel heart — 
Invoking heaven by their art 
Before the noble throng 
In tier, on tiers, along 
The echoing walls 
Of the deep halls. 

As when released, grief's emblems blossom 
white. 



8 LAR YA T, 

So lit each brow ; high voices rang 
And drenched the lyres as they sang, 
How from mute night spring joys of 

halycon light, 
And o'er the pyre drops the screen :— 
Their dead King lived in their young 

Queen ! 
The moon's shade whispered out the news 
As silver surf caressed the shore 
Before a gold-prowed bucentaur 
Whose crew were poets, and the muse 
Breathed on their lyres as they passed ; 
And roused the vast 
Sea-cradled night 
Where the barred moonbeams smote with 

light 
Between the broken shafts of cloud, 
Their paeans loud ! 



LAR YA T. 9 

Glad, yet spirit veiled with tear-kissed 

eyes, 
The Queen deserting her bright throne 
Stops, and slowly smiling, softly sighs, — 
She walked alone : 

"He 's passing beauteous," she thought. 
And as she paused beneath a lattice old 
That oped to heaven's arch, Diana caught 
Her hair and spun a wreath of gold ; 
And shadows whispered : ** Sweet and 

pure 
Is gold-crowned Estha, chaste of wing ! " 
And voiceless echoes spake demure : 
'' Of him that 's beauteous we '11 sing ! " 
And Estha once more sighed, 
Yet no more mourned nor wept ; 
And Phoebus rose wide-eyed 
Before Diana slept. 



10 LARYAT. 

Of deeds In words not new to us 
We '11 sing of him that 's beauteous ; 
Of him who conjured the Queen's smile, 
Whose song was sweeter than the rest, 
Whose feats were glories of the Isle, 
Whose walks were open and were blest : 
Laryat his name. 
One of Thaura's minstrel band. 
Fair rang his fame 
Throughout the wave-locked land. 
Beyond, he 'd never ventured yet ; 
Still, when the fisher cast his net. 
His eye would wander outward o'er 
The far prone water line, 
As if to scan some orient shore 
Loosed from the sea's confine. 
Not wearied out of exploits in his 
strength — 



LAR VAT. II 

His Strength too keen to rest — 
The tide-lulled days had waxed of life- 
reft length ; 
And seldom seemed night blest 
Save when on emerald tiptoe mounts the 

moon — 
Or his far-sight was fixed at dream-land's 

noon ; 
Yet even then must come the rousing 

sore, — 
For 't was at best but a self-phantomed 

shore 
He rather felt, than saw : to shine no 

more — 
But ruthless fade away 
When smote the hurtling day. 
'T was thus, when night's great rafters 

break, 



12 LARVA T. 

He loathed the seeming trespass of the 

dawn, 
And almost with despair beheld the morn 
With rosy light of dream-robbed garlands 

wake ; 
Less fair than sunless, seemed to him 
Bright Nature's cup filled to the brim 
With teeming waters blest, 
Distilled from painless rest. 
Half envious scans he now the marble keep, 
Where bright a hundred lyres start from 

sleep 
With dulcet ringing come again — 
Whose measured throb, like silv'ry rain 
Falls free on heaven as on lea — 
That rippling runs along the sea, 
Awaking wave and wastrel sprite 
With twinkling throbs of sound and light. 



LARVA T. 13 

When Laryat raised his dew-stained harp, 

And on the damp threads pressed : 

It twanged a screech — dissonant sharp, — 

Discordant with the rest. 

'* My Queen, my Queen ! " he helpless 

cried, 
As up he sprang, — caught her still face 

apart ; 
Their eyes met, and she soft replied : 
*' It cannot be my Song Bird 's lost his 

art ? " 
** Fair Queen, thy Song Bird is undone ! 
His strength and art droop with the day ; 
He 'd tasted heaven, e'er he 'd heaven 

won — 
From heaven now must fly away ! 
Thy servant 's seen a beck'ning ray 
Deep in the night — brighter than day ! 



14 LAR YA T. 

Away — away ! 'T was red-mouthed, mad 

desire 
That peeped through curtained welkin, — 

dart of fire ! 
Mayhap it prove a treasure land, 
Must venture there to test its sweet, 
Returning thence at thy command 
To pour its bounties at thy feet." 

** I love not star-gems nor red gold," 
Sighed Estha, and her heart ached cold, 

" I will bring songs, plucked from a strange 

land's breast. 
Of flame and sun-thought to thy feast. 
With brands and love-sparks from the East 
To dazzle thy cold bards ; should but my 

quest 



LARYAT, 15 

Not too audacious seem — 
Too temerous my dream?" 

And sadly turned aside the Queen — 
As if she had naught heard — nor seen. 

Save on the night, this pseudo sun rose 

not ; 
Yet, like a flashing jewel to his eyes. 
Its rays diverging carmined all his skies, — 
And in its sheen young Laryat cast his lot. 

That night he slipped out on the tide 
And turned his back on Thaura's isle. 
His sail had veiled the light awhile, 
And silent night was ocean's bride 
That held him 'twixt their bosoms prest : 
An anxious, but a willing guest. 



1 6 LARYAT, 

Then stealing o'er the wave the moon arose, 

And through the shrouds played the night- 
wind 

As 't were a whisp'ring lyre, whose soft 
flows 

Bid farewell to the wake behind. 

On crest, o'er crest, mounts the bowed bark, 
That part like wings in the blue dark. 
The moments speed, the hours glide away ; 
Till to Dawn's eyes grows faint the beck'- 
ning ray. 

Flung wide the East, and paled Diana 

there. 
Before a mountain's vine-clad brow 
That, terrible in beauty, pierced the air 
From out the swaying surf below. 



LARYAT, ly 

Now *bout the bark strange water-beings 

sport, 
That striped as rainbows dive and flare, 
Of wing-like fins and azure streaming hair. 
And not far distant Laryat 'spied his port ; 
A water-grove, with huge pied-grapes o'er- 

hung, 
Whose red juice dropped into the brine. 
Upon the breasts of mermaids as they 

sung. 
And with their white arms shook the vine. 

SONG OF THE NAIADS. 

How welcome the stranger ! 

We '11 welcome his suit — 
The strong-limbed sea-ranger — 

With pipe and with lute ; 



I8 LARYAT, 

List soft to his coming, 

Shells, rosy, wide-eared ; 
Sing, winds, that are humming, 

And kiss his salt beard ! 
Come flock now below him, 

And muse in his face ; 
For, seeing, we know him 

And willing embrace. 
O come, then, light-hearted 

To jest by his side ; 
With breasts that are parted, 

We '11 each be his bride ! 

So blithe and 'witching were their voices 

raised. 
That Laryat paused and half turned pale. 
As almost unawares the bark's keel grazed 
The low lip of the land-mouth's rail. 



LA I? Y AT. 19 

Then weird-eyed shells so smote his eyes, 
That he stood wavVing, dazed, irresolute, 
While from the heights came such soft 

sighs, 
As erewhile all sweet love-notes had 

seemed mute. 
Then saw he glancing silv'ry feet across 
The shells, as white and light as snow or 

moss. 
He raised his head : a thousand damsels 

shone 
With that soft sheen that flashes from fair 

limbs ; 
Their girdles knit of flower's eyes, and on 
Their heads they held gold cups with 

dripping brims ; 
While by the flowers that she wore : 
By Jessamine, by Rose or Violet, 



20 LAR YA T. 

By Daisy, Snow-drop, Lilly, Tulip met — 
Each called the other on the shore. 

SONG OF THE HANDMAIDS OF THE VINE. 

We are the handmaids of the Vine, 

More beautiful than she ; 
Yet not so powerful to twine, 

And loose man's spirits free. 
Come drink ! before ye enter in ; 
And think — O think not Love a sin ! 
While these beguile the air with jest and 

smile, 
Child Laryat lightly leaves his bark ere- 

while, 
Sips but a drop from each cupped flower's 

head, 
And up the mountain's vine-webbed spur 
is led, 



LARVA T, 21 

Where droops the luscious, swollen, hoar- 
flushed grapes. 
And myrrh-like incense from flag-root es- 
capes. 
Then sprite-like beings 'mid the vines ap- 
pear ; 
The coy yet tameless Satyr lends his ear, 
As the loosed huntsman's hound 
That starts at every sound. 
And as trunk-woven vistas opened out 
In semi sun-barred far diverging rays. 
Young Laryat heard a strange wild 

echoed shout, 
And saw athletic girls that danced, as fays 
And imps might sport beneath a moon- 
cloud's rift ; 
Of sun-kissed skin and without girth or 
shift. 



22 LAR YA T, 

SONG OF THE DRYADS. 

Aha ! men think us rough and rude, 
For we are strong and bold and free ; 

We are the forest's simple brood, 
The Servants of Love's fairy dell, 

Slaves of our Queen, whose girdle is 
Rare Asphodel. 

Aha ! Aha ! Our panting Queen — 

Lithe as a serpent in her bed ; 
She writhes with mad throes on the 
green. 
She leaves her kisses where they fell- 
As half unloosed is her bright wreath 
Of Asphodel. 

Aha ! Aha ! The lusty sport — 

The Satyr big and strong of haunch. 



LAR YA T. 23 

With buck and gambol and hoarse snort, 

We make him hot and prick'Hng well 
For our Queen, whose girdle is 
Choice Asphodel. 

Then came a crash ! The Satyrs in one 

throng 
Swept with wild snorts the shrieking 

girls along. 

SONG OF THE SATYRS. 

Shrews 

Of the horn ! 
Spawn 

Of the mews ! 

'* These are not meet," quoth one — 
His hands upon his hirsute knees, 



24 LARYAT, 

To Laryat pausing 'neath the trees, — 
*' For him shaped in the full mould of a 

god! 
Fear'st thou to meet the Sun ? 
Seek higher for a fitter love 
By the Empyrean's Myrtle Grove ; 
Leave the grapes' shade, — its bouts and 

wine-stained sod." 

SONG OF THE HANDMAIDS OF THE VINE. 

Higher 

Above 
Aspire 

To love. 

With mutterings, 
Weird utterings, 



LAR YA T, 25 

Fawn-lisps, stray gestures blent — scarce 

understood : 
Sir Laryat reached the flare kirt' of the 

wood. 
A tarn was there, nursed by a crystal 

stream, 
Like a round crater, dead and black. 
Laryat advanced as in a waking dream — 
But quick, the damsels drew him back : 
'T was the dark Mirror of the Fauns 
That gives to man the hoofs and horns ! 

Then soared to skies a hymn of praise, 
Whose strident chords fell on the now 

dumb wold ; 
While there were angels coming to his 

'maze. 
Not white of robe — but of red-tinted fold. 



26 LAR YA T, 

SONG OF THE RETAINERS OF EROS. 

We are the Disciples of Flame, 
Of Cupid and joys without name ; 
We dwell in the depths of man's heart, 
Concealed in its yearnings apart, 
Where patient we wait Cupid's art 
To welcome the smart of his dart. 
The Soul is a beautiful shrine 
That burns at Love's whispers divine ; 
That trembles in tumult of bliss — 
Returning red-passion's long kiss. 

Athwart the sun's eyes rose the seraph's 

wings. 
From that time on, all sung and moved 

in trance ; 
A thought of Thaura came and went ; 

a glance 



LARYAT, 27 

As 't were at Estha, and at dreamlike 

things ; 
The present and the pageant seemed all 

real, 
'T was but the past he could no longer feel. 
The future promised was love's dazzling 

shore — 
The present sweet : what recked Child 

Laryat more? 

To the grove of myrtles that blow 
O'er ravished rust-shackles of care — 
Where cleft is the knit-brow of woe ; 
O waft wind away to that sea — 
Fleet cloud of full-bosomed winged air, 
Where Venus sprang flashing and free ! 
To the wave, the foam-nestling shell, 
The grotto of tinsel and jet, 



28 LARYAT. 

To ocean's unfathomed green well 
Where Love-dawn first flung out his net ! 
Where rocked in the caves of his birth, 
Naught knowing of sorrows on earth ; 
Self-drowned in locked bliss for a night, 
Upheaving the main with his might, 
Whose torrents the darkness obeyed : 
Love broke forth to Man — as a Maid ! 

There was a fragrance that the heights 

imbued — 
That he then felt, not seeing — 
That thrilled through all his being ; 
As still they sped in dazzling altitude. — 
Was it a phantom from the grapes ? 
He fancied that each sphere-like cloud 
Was fraught with twin-embracing shapes. 
The music swelling still more loud. 



LAR YA T. 29 

Neared he the blithe, ecstatic shore ? . . . 
His head sank — and he recked no more. 

With sight unsealed, 't was as to bliss he 

'woke : 
To transport as of trance, joy unbereaved ; 
While o'er his beard there thrilled an 

am'rous stroke, 
And by his cheek a throbbing bosom 

heaved. 
And when he looked, he gazed into two 

eyes 
More deep, more blue, than Orient's un- 
veiled skies ! 
So still, they seemed to gaze beyond on 

space ; 
So bright their waters, he scarce saw the 

face. 



30 LAR YA T, 

" What angel holds me now in fond em- 
brace?" 

** No angel am I, but thy love, 
Born in the Myrtle's. sacred Grove. — 
r ve tarried for thee, Laryat, Time's spent 
space." 

"Thou art perfection's mould, and still 
more fair ! 

Thy breasts, thy lips — thy 'witching, silk- 
seine hair." 

" All that is mine is thine 

If but thy thought be mine ? " 

Marking her smile and nod — he opes his 

arms — 
Burning he stoops and intent clasps her 

charms. 



LAR YAT. 31 

Pleased with her capture- 
Complacent her smile ; 

Conscious in rapture 
Of weaving her wile ; 

Abandoned to one 

Whose passion is true, 

Longs for another 

That 's dif rent and new. 

Lithe in caresses, 

The pink of her sex. 
Loose are her tresses 

Her leman to vex ; 
Vine-like her graces 

Far-look in her eyes. 
Firm her embraces 

And trembling her sighs. 

Dawn, thou art breaking 
And night, thou art spent, 



32 LARYAT. 

Dream-bliss forsaking, 
Thy curtain is rent ; 

Flown is Love's token ! 
His power is gone : 

Cupid, heart-broken, 
Lies sobbing alone ! 

Hast thou not sauntered in love's per- 
fumed halls ; 

Their pavement knit of twining maids, 

Of smooth, white limbs and knotted 
braids ; 

Hast marked the starry mirrors on the 
walls. 

Reflecting moon-sheen on the musk- 
dewed beds 

Of tiger-lilies with flushed drooping heads ? 

Hast not been drunk with incense 'neath 
the bine ; 



LAR YA T, 33 

Hast thou not pressed the lilac, lashed 

with vine ; 
Hast thou not known the Goddess crown 

the shrine : 
Her bosom's pearl-blush, and her veil — 
Revealing flashes of blithe undreamt 

bliss- — 
Woven of Virgins* tears, too frail 
To bear e'en the soft breath of leman's 

kiss ? 

Passions of night 'wake anguish by day ; 
Temples that burn, to ashes decay. 

And on the red Mount, Laryat lingered 

long, 
Beguiled by thrallen love — by wine and 

song. 
Till waxed and waned his lordly mood, 



34 LAR YA T, 

Until he loathed the scalding food 

Of which his chilled blood now seemed 

satiate, 
And longed to fly, e'er Fate might bar the 

gate. 
To turn from facile conquests now grown 

vain, 
His wak'ning Soul was rife ; 
To taste and feel the freedom once again 
Of unenchanted life. 

" And thou wouldst leave me reft for 

years ! 
Sighed his Enchantress 'neath her tears. 

*' The days seemed long, — and nights are 

short." 
He made retort. 



LARYAT. 35 

" Thou hast another love, more dear 
In thy thought's eyes — I fear. 
Ah ! cruel> soulless is thy sex that cling 
Not unto any thing!" 

** Fair Dame, thou art as beauteous as the 

Day ; 
Yet still, I must away.'' 

** I Ve stood above a sun-strewn stream 
And seen my svelte wraith — as in 

dream 
That 's ravishing — gaze mocking there ; 
So pure — inviolate and fair ; 
Like the twin-semblance of our Queen, 
Who sits Perfection Throned, serene. 
And still I ponder — puzzled now, 
How thou could'st be revolted — thou ! . . 



36 LAR YA T. 

Yet have I solace, since we part ; 
My image is stamped on thy heart ; 
So any virgin thou embrace 
Shall see my spirit in thy face ! 
And when thou wed,^-then think on me — 
For then : the clasped hands shall be 
three ! " 

"Moon-drunk thou art! And dost thou 

deem I can 
Be gudgeoned thus — if still I be a man ? 
Dost dream I 'd quail before such shrewish 

burst ? " 

" Am I not meet for any god ? 
If not chastise me with a rod ; 
Cast my loose flesh to any swine, 
That hate sweet waters and love brine ; 



LARVA T. 37 

That must be goaded with a prod 

And made to eat when they 're in luck, — 

As some daft brutish Satyr buck ! 

I Ve Princes known — in love's brief hour — 

Who awed and ravished, lost their power 

At the mere magic of my rod ! 

Thou must not linger here, for thou art 

'cursed ; 
Nor 'bout our haunted woodlands roam — 
Seeking, forsooth, a better home ! 
Yet spare me this low leering bow. 
Yea — I am glad th' 'rt going now ! 
Take — drink this cup of slumber juice, 
Fear naught — thou 'It rid me by its use, — 
Yet see that none be spilt — 
'T will take thee where thou wilt : 
To Heaven or to Hell — 
And so : Farewell ! " 



38 LAR YA T. 

*' Awhile farewell, fair Dame ! 
To prove to thee, I think 
Thou lov'st me still the same : — 
See — to the dregs I drink ! " 
Fixed on far Thaura's quiet skies, 
Faint Laryat closed his swooning eyes. 

Sweet pipers of advancing dawn 
Forgetful the slain night to mourn, 
Note-wastrels, choral birds 
Whose songs are without words ; 
More musical — profoundly true 
Than words could well express 
The infinite of Heaven's blue 
On Earth's bright loveliness ; 
Glad gaolers of enveloped strife — 
Forerunners with the Torch of Life. 
Laryat awoke in Thaura's Isle, 
And rushed to kiss the monarch's hand. 



LAR YA T. 39 

Estha embraced him with a smile, 
And gave rejoicings through the land ; 
In every ear his journey's fame — 
On every lip his name. 

The heralds sounded with trumpet to court 
The young Queen passed with her train ; 
Close to the poets, who sat wrapt in 

thought. 
The trumpets sounded again ; 
Then forth Child Laryat stood 
Like a tall young tree 
That shakes his branches free. 
From out the low'ring wood. 

The monarch's still voice rose : ** Yet once 

again 
We give bard Laryat welcome to this 

Realm, 



40 LARYAT. 

Glad that bereavement's sail hath shift to 
gain ; 

Since, like an able steersman at his helm 

Conspiring with Love's tides, returning 
he 

Brings safe to port his songs gold ar- 
gosy." 

Then comes the pause of an expectant 
hush — 

And Laryat's fingers o'er the bright cords 
rush. 

O Queen of the Isle and the main — 
And sun of my sail-winged car ! 
I 'd fling to the sea this fell lute 
If aught that it spake should seem vain — 
Unworthy of Estha's chaste star; 
'T were better my lips stricken mute ! 



LARYAT, 41 

Then listen, O Queen, to tne rhyme 
Of one who hath supped of mad bliss 
In a land where Love is born free ; 
Where breast unto bosom doth chime 
To the rhyme in the soul of one kiss 
That is heaven ! over the sea. 

A mount where the night 's ever bright 
With the Light of passion's wild flame 
And the flash of Cupid's red bow 
O'er its crest that with fair limbs is white ! 
To which Love-feasts of Thaura were 
tame, 
Though the main with wine should 
o'erflow. 

Like the hoarse breathings of a sourdent 
gale 



42 LAR YA T. 

Low muttered murmurs ran — the Queen 
was pale. 

O that ye would list to my song, 

That ye all might learn what is Love — 
And knowing, in Love's Goddess be- 
lieve ! 
Ye courtiers and bards in the throng 
That look not on earth, but above, 
For blessings ye never receive ! 

At this — ^the clamor brake, 

As of old Babel burst from night anew. 

Then rose — as madder still the tumult 

grew — 
A hoary bard, who had not sung for years, 
And fixed the Queen — who sought to 

screen her tears — 
And thus the old man spake : — 



LAR YA T. 43 

" Conceive perfected marble with the 

breath 
Of Being, without Death. — 
Embodied in such bodies in the Flame, 
The Serpent's touch, that burns without a 

name, 
Achieve the acme of the Passion's sense : 
And where Love ends, commence 
Around the panting zones that flash 
White-hot, and drop chaste Love as art ; 
Believe in this mad heaven of unrest ; — 
Or fly — and be ye blest ! " 

Then srtiote he Laryat's lyre from his 

hand ! 
While Laryat gasping — losing self-com- 
mand- 
Quick grasped his sword-hilt with a fren- 
zied glare, 



44 LAR YA T. 

While 'bout him flashed full fifty blades 

in air : 
" Thou Turk ! Would'st strike a frail old 

man?" cried one. 
"Of thee, and thy vile songs we will have 



none ! " 



Then 'twixt the combatants pale Estha 

stood 
Alone, at first in calm, collected mood :■ — 
" Sirs, ye forget yourselves — the place — 
My presence here, 't would seem ! . . . 
Yet if this be a dream — 
*T is shameful ! " and she hid her face, 
Anguish in her sobs revealed. — 
Laryat brake his sword — and kneeled. 



RES JUDICATA. 

When leaves are pressed against the hot 

bent sky- 
Night giving in their shade ; their cool 

webbed hands 
Thrust out the ardent sun as should chaste 

maid's, 
As green-haired wavelets scolloped on 

the shore 
Of the unfrozen blue that burns o'er- 

head ; 
When alien waters meet in headlong feud 
Awhile they strive with spray uplifted 

wings 
Then pause — embrace in flowery beds of 

foam 

45 



46 HES JUDICA TA. 

And sink into a double depth more tranquil 
Then the first that gave them single birth ; 
And so cloud-bred conflicting winds, con- 
flict 
No more once met, but wed their breaths 

in calm ; 
So flame to flame is fire met. But our 
Days are ground out in unrestfulness. 
While night-tides tread upon their skirts 

with balm 
Made precious only by the strife of light ; 
The beast is tamed and Heaven's promised 

Man. 
'T is given us to weigh by touch — to con 
The horned Evil and the far-wing'd Good, 
Yet neither Spirit in World-wounded 

breasts 
Can give Man peace : because the other is. 



TENEBR^. 



SELF. 



Yet comes my mood again, 

But with a greater pain. 

In all the world, most in the world, alone ! 

Like some deserted monarch on his 

throne — 
Oppressive stillness closes me around. 
As if to shut out hope without a sound. 
How tomb-like seems this haunt in dreary 

plight- 
Meet vault for death ! And where the 

bilious light 
Falls on the walls, I hideous Shadows 

see — 

47 



48 TENEBR^. 

Like ghouls, that grin and nod, in hellish 
glee ! 

THE SHADOWS ON THE WALLS. 

Stand still 

The Will ? 

Arrant madness. 

Born of sadness 
Seeks only for repose. 

The strife 

Of life ? 

Going, sowing- 

Never knowing 
'T is flowing to its close. 

The breath 

Of death? 

Bosom aching 

Nature quacking 
But Self-damnation knows ! 



TENEBR^, 49 

SELF. 

Dread terror now doth shroud me in the 

very air ! 
While cold, insidious — the monster Grim 

Despair 
Doth sink into my soul this last appeal : 
How with 'cursed Life it were now best 

to deal ! 
Th' oppressive walls about me seek to meet 
E'en strong floor uplifts beneath my feet ! 
As if to press and hasten on the end — 
Ere I repent or Angels should defend ! 
My senses reel ! Quick, let me yield to 

fate! 
Where is the vial, ere it be too late ! 

The hand of Dawn is in the East. 

Sweet stars ! on tip-toe in the trem'bling 
sky; 



50 TENEBR^. 

Oh, take me with you to the feast 

Whereto ye go ! Ye cannot shake me. 
Why? 
I can no longer rest below, 

Earth's bars imprison me by night and 
day ! 
Were I a spirit — might I go ? 

But stay — I '11 drain this cup, and then 
away ! 
We '11 go together to those Lands 

Where dwell — beyond the pale of mor- 
tal sight — 
Those weary ones, with folded hands : 
Whose wings unfurled, outstretched, 
and sought the Light ! 

A VOICE FROM ABOVE. 

** Ye are bought with a price !" * 

* I. Corinthians, Chapter vi., verse 20. 



PARNASSUS. 

True poetry is not of earth, 

*T is more of Heaven by its birth ; 

A mingled feeling keeps us tied 

Fast down to earth where we abide ; 

Close to the precipice of Time 

We eager creep with ventured rhyme, 

There stunned and staggered to behold 

The wonders of great truths untold, 

And fearful lest we lose our hold, 

Or mute — dumbfounded at the sight — 

The Muse recedes, or checks her flight. 

Truth — truth ! 't is all a poet's cry ; 

But earth comes in to give the lie • 

51 



52 PARNASSUS. 

E'en man's best nature is impure, 
And cannot too much light endure ; 
We 're happy still, content at least 
With what crumbs fall from Nature's feast ; 
'T is like a glass — truth but reflects. 
Though darkly, through our intellects, 
Clouded by care, or scarce aware 
What great things God would picture 
there. 



AMERICANUS. 

'T is the custom of our Country, and a 

greater there is none, 
That all callings, trades, or business, you 

may now combine in one. 
Man's vocations each I Ve filled, from the 

greatest to the least, 
Like a Buddhist that has sojourned 'neath 

the pelt of every beast ; 
I have been a Gospel preacher, a general 

and commodore, 
I 'm a thing of stock exchanges and a doc- 
tor of the law. 
Of the book of my professions I ve heeded 

not the text — 

53 



54 AMERICANUS. 

If you fail an undertaking, it 's so easy to 

say '' next." 
'^Next!" I Ve cried, ^' I '11 try another," 

until wearisome it grew — 
Pretending to be knowing, when I really 

nothing knew. 
Puritans my fathers were — and they have 

had their day ; 
And '' gorgeousness " I crave not — in the 

bourgeois sort of way. 
** Nobodies" I cannot envy, who from out 

the gutter rise. 
Parading vulgar millions, here before 

men's hungry eyes. 
Riches make the cad more churlish. Need 

or want man's patience tries — 
Crushing out what hope is in him, when- 

soe'er he seeks to rise. 



AMERICANUS. 55 

Air, light ! Give me Freedom, I don't 
want the empty name, 

I don't want the hollow carcass, whence 
hath fled fair honor's flame ; 

To the highest give him power, to the low- 
est give him bread, 

To the demagogue and bully listen not in 
silent dread ; 

Be a Man ! and God will rescue this Great 
Country from their hand — 

Keep thy " Birth-right " as the jewel to 
illumine all the Land ! 



"NOT YET SIXTEEN." 

A LETTER. 

" Dear Husband Fred :. 

Come to your little wife ; 
I ought to love you and I do — 
I did not mean to worry you ; 

I won't toss ball with Mary any more. 
I quite agree with all you say, 
A married girl should never play. 

" And Fred, I won't regret that I Ve left 
school ; 
But only I do feel so old, 
And all the girls say I 'm so cold 

And stiff, because I wear a cap and train. 
But married ladies must dress so, 

As they 're quite old enough to know. 

56 



. NOT YET SIXTEEN, 5/ 

" The house seems — oh ! so big and still, 
dear Fred, 
When you are gone. And when Nurse, 

too, 
Is cross, I don't know what to do ! 
I can't skip rope ; it makes the servants 
laugh — 
I heard them whisper on the green : 
'Poor Mis'ess ! She 's not yet sixteen.' 

' I '11 let them know what I 'm about ; 
I 've made a nest up in a tree. 
Where there 's just room for you and me; 
And when those children come, I '11 say 
I 'm out, — 
I '11 show them what is married life ! 
Won't that be right ? 

'' Your little wife," 



AN INVOCATION. 

Thou Moon ! Sun of the Night, 

Sister mystic of the Day ; 
Look down, pause in thy flight ! 

Calm me with thy aural ray, 
Enchanting souls to silver sleep. 
Look down from out thy airy keep. 
My fevered senses hypnotize ; 
Shut out the World, whereto Mind flies — 
Ambitious Mind, with travail sore ; 
Its fibre rest, its calm restore. 

CELESTIAL ANSWER. 

Above the care of Nature and of State, 

Suspended in the noon of Night we wait, 

58 



AN INVOCATION. 59 

All slumber nursing, to make sweet and 
pure, 

While secret Nature, weaving works the 
cure. 

We are the handmaids of the hollow 
night, 

The angels of the dark, restoring sight ; 

We go — the pains of Day to soothe, con- 
sole — 

Awake, arise ! Behold thou art made 
whole. 



KNOWLEDGE IS NOTHING; 
ELSE MAN COULD CREATE. 

Behold my labors' lumbered battle-ground ; 
These volumes, charts, like dead men 

strewn around, 
Whose leaves I Ve dog-eared — till I could 

no more — 
With patience delving to exhume the lore 
From Zoroaster unto Faraday, 
The lesser profit gleaming on the way ; 
For more I Ve done ! I 've studied Odic 

Force ; 

And can arrest a spirit in its course ; 

I know Man's aura well, and all its freaks, 

And read my neighbor's thoughts before 

he speaks ; 

60 



KNOWLEDGE IS NOTHING, 6 1 

The vital force of Life I can distil, 

Yea, more ! for now, at last, I Ve mastered 

Vril^ 

But to what purpose ! I 'm but flesh and 
blood. 

All things are vain — and knowledge but a 
flood 

Submerging all my better self — my heart, 

And doth to Man but callousness impart. 

Still I am chained — still but a stifled 
wretch — 

Within the human bonds of '*go and 
fetch " ; 

And like some stale — some dingy, old pro- 
fessor, 

I am a prey to spleen, and qualms, and 
error. 

* See Bulwer's " Coming Race." 



62 KNOWLEDGE IS NOTHING. 

Knowledge is nothing ; else man could Cre- 
ate I 

Drowned in " Equality," this is Man's 
state — 

A ripple on vast ''Freedom's" ocean 
tossed, 

His Individuality is lost ! 

I 'm like a number in a numbered street, 

E'en to be hated — even that were sweet ! 

As for success ! Quacks need but say 
they 're great 

To snatch what laurels we 'd anticipate. 



MISERABILE DICTU ! 

Whatever this may be, 

'T is e'en for the best ; 
Though a shudder comes o'er me, 

Thy soul is at rest. 

In the Church-Yard alone, 

Sweet child, thou art sleeping ; 

While the billows do moan, 
And the heavens are weeping. 

Since men have forbidden — 

My darling, 't is better for thee, 

That the Grave hath all hidden, 

And thy father should flee ; 
63 



64 MISERABILE DICTU ! 

Yet thy spirit is near, 

On the wings of the gale — 

Yea, darling, thou 'rt here, 
By my storm-beaten sail. 

I hear thy voice calling ; 

*T is sweetly the same, 
O'er the tempest appalling, 

That is calling my name. 

In fondness I follow. 

Though swift be thy flight, 

In the silence of sorrow 
And the darkness of night 



THE MESHES. 

Behold ! loud pageant and strained heart 
With chiselled gilt encasing soulless rags ; 
A nerveless hand that clings to quivering 

mesh 
Out-spun by a faint mirage of loose hopes 
From the hot caldron of far speeding aims, 
A flickering dream to dance in fire-light — 
Consumed to life in flame — to ashen life ; 
A breath may kindle, while yet not a 

flood- 
Misfortune's rack — can wholly chill the 

pulse 

That 's fever-lashed for future's looming 

bourns ; 

65 



66 THE MESHES, 

So dry in thirst that sees an empty cup ! 
Not till the rose is torn are thorns with 

blood, 
And life's long covetings die crownless 

bliss — 
Or sigh-sick forms turn vapors packed 

with wraiths ; 
Stops dead day's dial if our hopes feign 

night — 
The present dying bids the future pause ; 
Till wisdom come, man's heart goes up no 

more. 



THE TOAST TO NEW ENGLAND. 

Fill up the bowl and let us sing ; 
Loud let our gladsome voices ring 
O'er land and sea, where'er men roam : 
A greeting to our brave old Home, 
New England ! 

She beat the French, She beat the Dutch, 
And yet we count this not so much ; 
But stiff and strong the old brew mix, 
And let us drink to " 76," 
New England ! 

Then came that trouble on the sea, 
Where both sides fought so gallantly : 



67 



68 THE TOAST TO NEW ENGLAND, 

What put the spokes in John Bull's game? 
The simple magic of that Name, 
New England ! 

Last came that strife where Brothers met, 
And Mothers' hearts are bleeding yet ; 
For years we fought like desp'rate men : 
What saved the Union, there and then ? 
New England ! 

Yet once again in parting raise 

Unto our lips the cup of praise ; 

We drink : Long Life I to Thee and 

Thine — 
My proudest boast to call Thee mine, 
New England ! 



THE LINK. 

Some fearful sights there be that creep 

By night — I mean that harass sleep ; 

But tenfold more alarming seem these 
when 

They brave the day, to breathe the air 
like men ; 

With us — like us, of life partaking ; 

From suchy alas ! there *s no awaking, 

Some dark presentiment their aura bears — 

I know not what ? — of something un- 
awares ; 

As when in dreams, our foothold seems 
to miss 

And we slip down some deep unknown 

abyss. 

69 



THE BALLAD OF LAMENTA- 
TIONS. 

An old Soul's sorrow — none so gray 
By dun of night or flare of day — 

What shall I do ? 
The idle, idle fondled dream 
Of bliss — burst bubble on the stream ! 

What shall I do ? 
And looking back, I can count now 
The failures that have scarred my brow. 

What shall I do? 
I 'm scarred within — I 'm scarred without ; 

What shall I do ? 

The sin of years hath found me out, 

What shall I do ? 
70 



THE BALLAD OF LAMENTATIONS. 7 1 

God grant th* oblivion I seek ! 

What shall I do ? 
God's love was true — t was self was 
weak — 

What shall I do ? 
Curse a life's error f 'T is past late. 

What shall I do ? 
All must shift right or left with fate, 

What shall I do ? 
'' Forgive thy life" — forget mad trance 
That youth thy being could enhance ! 

What shall I do ? 

I am alone now that I 'm weak ; 

What shall I do ? 
The echoes whisper when I speak, 

What shall I do ? 
My eyes are as the melting snow — 



72 THE BALLAD OF LAMENTATIONS, 

Time-watered blood as tears that flow. 

What shall I do ? 
My hand is like the Autumn leaf, 

What shall I do? 
Despair steals o*er me as a thief, 

What shall I do ? 
Though yet afraid, I fain would go. 

What shall I do ? 
Bent now the bones that raise the form 
Unsheathed — still facing every storm ! — 

What shall I do ? 
I 'm but a remnant of the past — 
Forgotten — beached on present's vast ; 

What shall I do ? 
Repudiated by the night 
That snatched my dear ones from my 
sight, 

What shall I do ? 



THE BALLAD OF LAMENTA TIONS, 73 

Strayed — unfamiliar — lost by day — 

What shall I do ? 
Faint stranger that has missed the way ; 

What shall I do ? 
That with shrunk sight peers out on space 
To greet no one familiar face, 

What shall I do ? 
Alone I 'm old — all else is new ; 
Save the warm sun, the stars, the blue — 
Friends of my youth — the only few, 

What shall I do ? 
Dazed at my smile, bright cheeks are pale ; 

What shall I do ? 
When beauty turns — draws close her veil, 

What shall I do ? 
Had I enough strength left for rage 
I 'd snap the white bars of this cage ! 

What shall I do ? 



74 THE BALLAD OF LAMENTA TIONS, 

I could love well, I could be bold, 

What shall I do ? 
Had not love's treasures grown so cold. 

What shall I do ? 
Numb icicles close fast love's heart — 
Dumb-blighting love, beyond love's art ! 

What shall I do ? 
My being stark 'wakes with the day, 

What shall I do ? 
My soul hath quarrelled with its clay, 

What shall I do ? 
Let friendship fill this hollow breast — 
Full friendship that heaps balm of rest. 

What shall I do ? 
Where sped — friend of the friendly 

band ? 
Gone on for aye — the Promised Land — 

What shall I do ? 



THE BALLAD OF LAMENTATLONS. 75 

Thy flight was swift — fain would I weep ! 

What shall I do ? 
Better than earth — by thee I 'd sleep. . . . 

What shall I do ? 
Strong men are treading down the earth, 

What shall I do ? 
The earth that buries and gives birth, 

What shall I do ? 
Whose blossoms blend both black and 

white, 
As cycles turning day and night : 

What shall I do ? 
Sleep smites full years, feigns play with 
youth ; 

What shall I do ? 
To be, and act — yet kneel to truth 
Seen as faint star out earth's broad well, 

What shall I do ? 



76 THE BALLAD OF LAMENTA TIOJVS. 

As God's hand smites the startled bell ; 
From anguish unto peace that knell, 

What shall I do ? 
Great God, I '11 kiss Thy chast'ning rod ! 
Hark ! — Clinks the spade on grassy sod — 

What shall I do ?— 
Earth's scales have fallen from my sight — 
O God, what rapture ! O what Light ! 

No more to do ! 



THE NEW PONS ASINORUM. 

A CIRCLE WITH A DOT AT THE CENTRE. 

This is the test of Man's depravity, 
A symbol of the greatest gravity. 
Then list, while I try to expound the thing : 
The dot is Man, Temptation is the ring. 
Say thou 'rt the dot — the circle whirls 

around thee. 
Becoming narrower — as to confound thee ; 
If it come so close that it gulf the dot — 
Then thou art lost ! Thy life 's a blur — a 

blot. 



77 



THE 

NEW PROLOGUE IN HEAVEN 

TO 

AN AMERICAN FAUST. 
1884. 

Scene : — Clouds. 
Akem Mano discovered looking down. 

AKEM MANO.* 

To have no youth, no prime, nor age, 
Of Time and Limit thus bereft, 

No date, or all, on History's page ; 
My seal *s upon each Record left. 

So fated never to know more 
Than what, forsooth, I knew before, 

* As Mephistopheles. 
78 



THE NEW PROLOGUE IN HEAVEN. 79 

With Still a thirst insatiate, 
Advancement is debarred. Yet wait ; 
For Power can be won by lies 
On Earth, — we 11 try it on the Skies ! 
Men say each dog must have his day ; 
I limp along the broad World's way. 
Oppressed, overshadowed by a Name 
Greater than mine that bears the shame. 

{Sounds of celestial music are heard.) 

This marks my goal ! Upon the cone of 

night, 
Shot up from th' eclipsing Earth, 
I Ve deftly ridden Here. 

{Heaven opens. Angels and redeemed Spirits mingle ; 
ascending and descending^ to and from a Higher 
Region in the distance?) 

The Souls in Light ! 
Behold ! ecstatic second birth. 



80 THE NEW PROLOGUE IN HEAVEN, 
HEAVENLY CHORUS. 

Continually we cry, eternally we sing ; 
Forever Thou art God, forever Thou art 

King! 
The glad Song leaps from Oceans of a 

Thousand Worlds, 
While giant mountains back the sacred 

echo hurls : 
Praise unto Thee, Thou art the Lord, the 

God of All ! 
Let Heaven, let the Earth, and all Creation 

bow. 
Fall down and praise ! The Alpha and 

Omega Thou. 
Through boundless Space — the Spheres 

that whirl beneath Thy feet. 
To Constellations from afar proclaim, re- 
peat : 



THE NEW PROLOGUE IN HEAVEN. 8 1 

Praise unto Thee, Thou art the Lord, the 
God of all ! 

AKEM MANO. 

No Stock I '11 take in Heaven's stuff, 

I 'm here on biz, and must look sharp. 
For girls, it is all well enough 

To smile and sing, and twang the harp. 
She 's not so bad — I '11 try a wink ; 

These robes do so the form enhance, 
Or so a mortal Here would think ; 

They'd be in Hell ! had I the chance. 

{^Addressing a passing Spirit.*) 

^^High Mightiness !"t 

Whose ghost art thou ? 

Whose is that leer, that servile bow, 

*" The Father of his Country. 

t One of the forms of addressing the President of the 
United States proposed by Adams. 



82 THE NEW PROLOGUE IN HEAVEN, 

Whose is that snout, that serpent face ? 
'T is not of Earth, nor of this Place. 



AKEM MANO. 

Well guessed ! from both I 've had the 

sack ; 
For through a crack, from Here I fell. 
And I came down with such a whack 
That through Earth's crust I went to 

Hell. 
Thou mark'st that I 'm a trifle lame. 
That was the Fall — I 'm not to blame. 

SPIRIT. 

Thou trespassing black Ape of Lies, 
Thy presence Here pollutes the Skies ! 
Thou spawn of toad, unburied worm 



THE NEW PROLOGUE IN HEAVEN, 83 
AKEM MANO. 

Enough — and more ! You make one 

squirm ; 
In Spirit conversation there 's a leaven ; 
.Let's be poHte, since we 're. in Heaven. 

SPIRIT. 

Begone from me, Tormenting Fire ! 
To hearken thus I 've no desire. 

AKEM MANO. 

Here can'st thou not endure a foe ? 

I struggled 'gainst thee to my cost ; 
Yea, I 'm thine enemy ; and so 

Forgive thou must — else Heaven 's lost ! 
Forget that we e'er met before ; 
Forgive, on this Eternal Shore. 
How 's that ! I 'm not much good at 
preaching. 



84 THE NEW PROLOGUE IN HEAVEN. 

Below we rather lack Church teaching ; 
But that is neither here nor there ; 

To bandy words is too absurd. 
I 'm not up here to split a hair, 

I Ve simply come to bring thee word : — 
Things are not always what they seem — 
Burst is the bubble of Thy Dream ! 
Thy System 's on its way to rot ; 

Thy Country each four years is sold 
To demagogues, who care no jot 

So long as they can bleed her cold ; 
Enrich themselves with Public gold. 
As kings were wont to bag of old. 
In monarchs' hearts I 'd found it well 

To be ; and if they had no hearts. 
Well, then — I 'd in their paunches dwell, 

Therefrom controlling all their parts. 
Now all is changed ! The Nations sing 



THE NEW PROLOGUE IN HEAVEN. 85 

That ** Liberty " 's a funny thing ! 
Things are so queer. I 've ceased to roam, 
And made it, over there, my home, — 
Perchance, but for a little while, 
Yet still the thought provokes a smile. 

SPIRIT. 

Thou Vt false again ! But I refrain — 
Full soon will'st find thou schem'st in vain ; 
For there 's a Banner uncorrupt and new, 
A Band full strong, though they be few, 
Led by Excelse * in armor clad — 
He '11 prove thy match, though but a lad ! 

AKEM MANO. 

The others are such wretched game ; 
Pop ! goes my gun — they 're all too tame. 

* As Faust. 



86 THE NEW PROLOGUE IN HEAVEN. 

Excelse I '11 have, he must atone ! 

As this concerns thee, I believe, 
'T has been exacted by The Throne, 

That first of all I crave thy leave. 

SPIRIT. 

Excelse ! That soul can never die. 

AKEM MANO. 

'T is done ! I see thou bid'st me try ; 
Thou never erst wouldst tell a lie ! 

CHORUS OF ANGELS. 

While Light, exulting, slays dread Dark- 
ness at a bound. 

Let Song from Sky to Sky, o'er each abyss 
resound. 

Sound trumpet, shawm, and timbrel loud. 



THE NEW PROLOGUE IN HEAVEN, 8/ 

Acclaim The Day ! 
For Seraphim with Cherubim prepare the 
way! 

(Heaven is flooded with light ; celestial music is heard 
at the approach of the Most High?) 

AKEM MANO {looklUg Up), 

Well now ! Not fool, or eagle, am I thus 
To squint up at the Sun, you know ; 

I 'd rather Heat than Glare — without this 
fuss ! 
There 's no more fun up Here. I '11 go. 

{Heaven closes.) 

AKEM MANO (solus, waviug a pinion). 

By George ! 

In our Times, 'tis rare one can 
Converse with such a perfect gentleman. 
( Vanishes. — Thunder.) 



MOTHER. 

Mother ! intellect and joy — 

Sweet patience of my youth, 

Boon of my manhood and my strength- 

My joy in pain ; my gentle counsellor. 



88 



-HEART OF MY HEART." 

Heart of my heart, flesh of my flesh, bone 
of my bone, 

I love thee for thyself, and for the chil- 
dren that thou gavest me. 

Well thou dost bear with me the burden 
of the life I lead, 

Companion of my days. Could they re- 
semble thee, 

Accursed then should be the race that love 
not their own wives ' 



89 



THE SONG OF THE BIRDS. 

Ye wastrels of the sky — whose twinkling 
wings 
Unveil the stars beneath the sun's near 
glow ; 
How ye must tnrob of wondrous whispered 
things 

_ Unheard below. 

'T would be an Angel's task — the winged 

throng — 
To sing of each and all that fill the skies ; 
Yet from the wold and plot I '11 raise my 

song — 

What in me lies. 
90 



THE SONG OF THE BIRDS. 9 1 

The matchless Eagle scorns the lowly 
branch, 
But, perched majestic on a summit rock, 
Looks on the sun when roars the avalanche 
Nor heeds the shock ! 

At dawn the Swan upon the stream 
awakes ; 
At evening, too, I saw him with his 
mate, 
And from the hills they seemed like snowy 
flakes 

Lost on the lake. 

The Lark straight toward the zenith 
takes her flight. 
And halting even-poised on twinkling 
wings, 



92 THE SONG OF THE BIRDS. 

Like a mere speck suspended in the 
light, 

Her paean sings. 

With quivering stir the Peacock's tail 
shakes wide, 
'T is pageant's self — a rainbow 'neath the 
skies ; 
So struts the haughty bird, its gorgeous 
pride 

The hundred eyes. 

I 've known this bird with dead " eyes" in 
the fan — 
Bleached, blotted out — as of a ghostly 
white ; 
But 'round the tips a snowy nimbus ran 
Like northern light. 



THE SONG OF THE BIRDS. 93 

The Parrot's kin is the dumb Cockatoo : 
Thou hast no greeting, unloquacious 
bird! 
And yet thy cousin can well speak for two ; 
He 's ever heard.. 

Awaiting night to give him back his wits, 
Minerva's Bird is badgered by small 
fowl ; 
Vexed, on the ruined tower there he sits. 
The blear old Owl ! 

The Carrier Pigeons like swift arrows go 
High o'er the banned, beleaguered city's 
gate, 
And on their wings are traced in 'prisoned 
woe 

Brief words of Fate. 



94 THE SONG OF THE BIRDS. 

Still patters rain, the woodland's all asop; 
But listen to that bright glad note ! 
List — hush : 
It steals between the drops from that tree 
top 

Where bathes the Thrush. 

The common Sparrow let me not forget, 

That tame about our walks familiar flies ; 
Contented with a crumb — a human pet 
In poor men's eyes. 

To sad, barred windows come the sweet 
birds blest ; 
And to the sick — unvisited for long — 
How welcome sounds, before they sink to 
rest, 

A good-night song ! 



THE SONG OF THE BIRDS. 95 

God's music 's light — e'en some sad songs 
breathe light 
Unto blind darkness that hath only ears : 
As when the Nightingale pours forth by 
night 

Her soul in tears. 

Ye Angel birds, whose bones are marrow- 
less, 
With pinions stretched in benisons 
above : 
Look down from Heaven's arch — from 
there confess 

As spake the Dove ' 



THE NIGHT, TO WINGED SOULS, 
IS DAY. 



I. THE spirit's tryst. 



I have a mind enjoyable, 

Companion of my soul, 

And all the fancies that it feeds 

I cannot paint in words. 

I climb the mountain on the mist, 

Or sweep deep down a vale ; 

Strange frost-work pluck I from the 

moon, 

And dew-drops from the stars. 

I quickly span the earthly zones, 

I reach from Pole to Pole, 

96 



THE NIGHT, TO WINGED SOULS, IS DA V, 97 

And like the winds that veer about — 

Take wing to East or West. 

I go to where my loved-one dreams, 

I peep beneath the night, 

And in the void where spirits dwell 

I press her soul in flight. 

II. THE SOURCE OF LOVE. 

Now on the rocks of Spirit-land 

We pause, and soft commune. 

By that vast deep — Eternity, 

Un visited by Earth. 

And at pur feet a thousand worlds 

Whirr in their curving course ; 

And, bending low, we catch the sound — 

** The music of the stars." 

'Round, 'round they go in cadence marked, 

Each peopled as of old ; 



98 THE NIGHT, TO WINGED SOULS, IS DA V. 

And 'round 'bout each, like parasites, 

Wee moons — in shadow bright. 

How now ! A comet thunders through, 

We kneel and gaze above — 

Then veil our eyes, yet weep for joy, — 

Behold, it is the Star of Love ! 

O Paradise ! that glorious star ! 

Speak — stranger, reading this — - 

Perchance thou 'st felt the rays of Love, 

Yet never seen the Source ? 

E'en happy thou if so ! 
A million quick magnetic suns 
'T would seem — yet 't is but One 
That gives a ray to each on earth, 
One bright sweet hope in life. 
Some catch the ray and fondle it — 
Ah, wise and happy they ! 
But there be others fear the world, 



THE NIGHT, TO WINGED SOULS, IS DA V. 99 

And dare not touch the Flame ; 
Yet mourn in secret for its loss, 
And so uncherished die. 
For these, loved-mortals shed a tear, 
And angels passing sigh. 



THE EXISTENCE DUAL. 

Visions of sleep ! Their crowding forms 
On earth, in hell, in heaven move. 
Sleep doth not prove. 

These are unreal — 

Void fancies that we only feel. 

There surely is some Life beyond 

The state of man's mere waking mind : 
Whereto — Earth-blind — 

Men's spirits creep 

From out the sepulchre of sleep. 

Dream sleep — brief semblance of the 
'' End "— 

lOO 



THE EXISTENCE DUAL. lOI 

Wherein we die but for a night ; 

Pass on to Light 
Or down to hell 
Oft — e'er the sexton toll the bell. 



'^THE LIGHTS OF NIGHT." 

The lights of night who hath not seen ? 
The city Hghts, Hke fire-flies 
Half-poised in air. The river lights, 
That dent and dimple as they go. 
The lights of toil. The lights of ease, 
Where laughter rings. The lights of 

death. 
Where silence sits. The curtained lights 
Of love, that play with shadows on 
A maiden's breast. The watchman's light. 
That moves awhile and then stands still. 
The unexpected light, that stuns — 
Revealing nothing but itself — 
A flash ! the centre of a blank, 

102 



THE LIGHTS OF NIGHT. 103 

As when hot lead hath slain a man. 
The lights that dimly dwell o'er shrines. 
The light that suddenly goes out, 
As if the night had swallowed it, 
And leaves us blind upon the road. 
All these we know, as if we had 
The trimming of the wicks. The lights 
Beyond us, are the living stars — 
Undying in their mystery. 



PARIS THE TON. 

Yea, Paris, thou art France ! 

Fair senseless ton, my senses throb 

For thee — thou art so beautiful. 

Lord ! what a gad is Paris Fair, 

Ripe bait for foreign hordes ; 

You pay your chink and get your chunk 

Well buttered on both sides. 

The streets are watered every day, 

The chestnut leaves are broad and green, 

The opal absinthe 's in the sunlit glass. 

The fiacre-men curse each other as they go. 

The "■ wide-eyed cities " of the Place 

Concorde 

104 



PARIS THE TON. I05 

Gaze on, and wonder when again 

The grinning " Spectre" must come forth 

Red-handed 'neath the quiet trees. 

The ladies all step light as birds, 

And some are pert and flip. There 're 

others 
Not so fair — pale vampires with hairy lip 
That sap the life of France — her bosom's 

foe. 
Yea, Paris is a festive ton — a festive 
Ton for all ! Skate o'er on joy — 
Thin crust of gilded, polished joy ! 
What matters it if Hell 's beneath ? 



^^A LONELY STORK LOOKS 
DOWN THE RHINE." 

A lonely Stork looks down the Rhine. 
Behind, across the mead, four kingdoms 

armed 
Stand in their strength and flaunt their 

flags. 
The pickelhaube and the sway-back coat — 
The goose-step and the folda-rol ! 
The fife and drum play English airs : 
Yea, beer is better than absinthe. 
The mddchen standing on the window-sill 
Scrubs the imperfect glass with bare-armed 
Energy. Eight marks would keep her 

for a month — 

io6 



A LONELY STORK. IO7 

And yet her smile is generous. 

Soap-suds are better than petroleum. 

The good Frau knits in leisure time ; 

But not upon a guillotine. 

The old man in his cellar stews. 

A child beneath a pillow lies. 

A dog sleeps harnessed to a cart. 

The sun shines broadly at mid-day 

As Herr Professor stumbles forth — his 

eyes, 
Gold-framed, bulge out above his beard. 
The jagg*d-faced student doffs his cap, — 

and sings : 
"A prince is better than a grocer^s clerk." 
Dann kommt acht bier und seeks cigarren 

—hi! 
The goose-step and the folda-rol ! 
'T is night. The Vaterland 's at peace ! 



A WORD WITH AN OLD COM- 
PANION. 

How surely better now it would have been 

Had I not made thee, pipe, my comfort- 
er ; — 

I 've grown dyspeptic in thy company ! 

And when I am most busy at my work 

I needs must stop and ram thee with a 
prod, — 

Light countless matches at thy sweet ca- 
price ; 

Accursed thing ! — yet thou art dear to me. 

Thou dost resemble me — so full of faults ; 

Yet not so bad — when taking in account 

How really wretched are most men and 
things. 

io8 



A WORD WITH AN OLD COMPANION. lOQ 

No ; I 'd not part with thee, though thou 

at times 
Doth smell so rank (or so I have been 

told). 
Perhaps I am unjust — it may be that 
The strong tobacco that I feed thee with 
Doth thee discredit in the eyes of m.en. 
Howe'er this be, we '11 not discuss it more ; 
Enough to say, thou art as dear to me 
As guile must be to those who 'd slander 

thee. 



NOLENS VOLENS. 

Of all the wounds of life that cut deep 

down 
And mark the bone, there is a stubborn 

sort 
That gapes for aye — that festers in the 

soul — 
A hollow spectre in the memory, 
Shrouded in folds of disappointment and 

regret : 
It is the void of wasted opportunities ! 
Why in great cities see we men so sad ? 
Hope should not break till life be snatched 
And all best hopes fulfilled. '' 'T would 

not 

no 



NOLENS VOLENS. Ill 

Be thus," say each apart, "had I 

But spoken then, or acted when 

The furnace blazed ! Or e'en perchance 

Breathed on the red-hot iron as it passed." 

True what the poet saith, the saddest is : 

" It might have been^ 
A gain may be maintained ; but what is 

lost, 
Is gone — forever lost ! Farewell for aye. 



THE EARTH 'S ATHIRST. 

Thou slanting rain ! Thou Hebe of the 

Skies, 
That pours out drink to Earth ; thou faith- 
ful wife 
That with moist tears embraces her prone 

lord. 
Thou mist intensified ; thou double dew 
That drowns the drought, that heals the 

parched and burnt — 
Thou resurrection rain. From thee comes 

forth 
New life — from water comes the ruby 

blood — 
The pulsing veins like thy blue streams, 

O rain ! 

112 



THE EARTH 'S A THIRST. II3 

Thou liquid limpid rain, quick dust the 
leaves ; 

Lay thy fresh cheek upon the heated 
grass ; 

Soft kiss the rose and lift the lily's head, 

Thou cooling muse, and like a fairy dance 

Upon the beds. Come when the light- 
ning red 

Hath struck and the tormented thunder 
groans, 

In big round drops thou liquid limpid 
rain — 

Come quickly then : say all is well, O rain ! 



THE DANCE OF LIFE. 

Fate's certain wale bites in the cheek of 

hope, 
Yet man persists to play the fool : 't is 

Life ! 

Another to the Ball — 

Time is the piper. On the dance ! 

Were we but gods, concealed in some 

Snug gallery, how we would laugh 

To see poor mortals jump and writhe : 

Th' expectant jaw, the tortured leg. 

The haggard eyes — yet sanguine step — 

In diverse jigs, in polk or waltz ! 

And over all, upon the air, 

The jingle of discordant aims ; 

114 



THE DANCE OF LIFE. IIJ 

It *s music ceaseless — overpaid 
In strife, and anguish, and despair 
By each in some vain bootless quest . . . 
Till all at once the lights go out ! 
Lo ! unexpectedly alone 
We faint into the arms of Death — 
The dark Recorder dips his pen : 
Another from the Ball. 
Experience, History, Fathers — sing : 
Each cradled kid doth pule but for his 
fling! 



THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY. 

This is a very little world ; 

And the people round about us, 

We meet and meet again. Till almost 

Like a prison it would seem ; 

With stated limits, where beyond 

We could not pass, in fear of meeting 

There without, an unfamiliar face ; 

Some being, that somewhere we had not 

In our waking or in dreaming seen before. 

Yet can we be the only species 

That exists above the brute creation ? 

Were it not vain to rest so satisfied — 

Contented with the mere reflection 

In our eyes, as 't were a neighbor's mirror — 

Ii6 



THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY. I17 

Each man a faulty copy of the next ? 
And is there not a craving in the heart 
For grander, nobler, fairer forms 
Than daily meet our view. A longing — 
Here perhaps, imperfectly expressed — 
To see, if but for once, the Face of God ? 



DIES NON. 

Away to the river — or glittering sand ; 

We '11 cast our cares on the stream, 
We '11 watch them float past to the ends 
of the land, 

While we sit passive and dream. 

Or to the wide ocean — in ships to the sea — 
And rest our cares on the shore ; 

We '11 lie on the crest that is idle and free, 
Nor look to the land any more. 

We '11 speed to the mountains — or high 
on the hills — 

And leave our troubles below ; 
Draw near unto heaven, that o'er all our ills 

The waters of nihil may flow. 



1X3 



THE SPIRIT ON THE WALL. 

I. 

Death in death is naught, 

But death in Hfe is all — 
For dying then we die indeed : 
Our evil spirits walk abroad, 
While all that 's good within us sleeps. 

I have a picture* in my room, 
A portrait hanging on the wall. 
It shows a quiet woman's face, 
Shrouded in black, with folds that fall 
Beneath the heavy frame. A modern 
Magdalen, 't is thought. It has a jewelled 

* The original in the Dresden Gallery, by Jean Libert Oury. 

119 



120 THE SPIRIT ON THE WALL, 

Cross upon its breast — ^an open book be- 
fore. 

The cross Is jewelled, mark — and the still 
face, 

Repentant though *t would seem to be — 

The eyes did surely sin again. 

One winter's night, 't was snowing fast, 

Perchance else this, my steps were heard — 

I sudden came, and quickly entered in. 

When, lo ! on glancing up, the face had 
gone — 

The frame hung empty o'er my head ! 

And yet the wicked eyes burnt in my soul 

From out the centre of the void, as if 

They still were there ! Chilled, and half- 
dazed, 

I seized a sword (the first thing that I 
saw) — 



THE SPIRIT ON THE WALL. 121 

And light before, I wheeled about : 
A noiseless shadow flashed me past ! 
She had gone back ! I was too late ! 
I sprang and tore her from the wall, 
Or what I madly thought had life — 
Life of some sort, unknown to me : — 
Nothing, nothing ! The canvas as before. 

II. 

Although I curse thee every night ; 
Yet let thy image still be on my wall — 
'T were better there than in my heart. 
Had Cain a wife, she were like thee ! 
Why such reproach in thy fixed eyes ? 
The Human brood is one. Yea, I 'm like 

thee ! 
The power to do good, the willingness to 

sin, 



122 THE SPIRIT ON THE WALL. 

Are both within us pent. The war goes 

on — 
The battle in the Soul. Perchance 't is 

fiercer 
In thy breast. And this would mark thee 

out 
More Human than the rest — thus more 
Deserving of a gentler sympathy. 
Forget, if I were harsh awhile, 
And let me turn to thee again, 
And crave forgiveness in a look. — 
Yet stay ? The Devil 's in those eyes — 
No, no ! I cannot say : Amen I 



THE BECKONING DEPTHS. 

The writhing eddies in the night, 
Like curving serpents on the sand, 
Caress with their smooth sides the land, 

Disporting in the moon's dead light. 

What lieth 'neath these cone-shaped 
moils ? 
Some naiad girl may gaze above 
Upon the stars, and dream of love 

From the deep apex of their coils ; 

May long to be a child of earth. 

May yearn for human love divine : 

For some terrestrial troth may pine, 

And mourn her water-wasted birth ; 

123 



124 ^-^^ BECKONING DEPTHS. 

Curse the slow drifting walls of wave 
While she untangles her long hair ; 
With cold chaste hope awaiting there 

Some brave to wed her in her grave. 

I 'm but a desperate man ! Here, wrong 
Or right, to-night, beneath this tide, 
I '11 make this forlorn maid my bride : 

Die ! as the swan that ends his song. 



HEART OF GRACE. 

Mourn not ! rejected, faint, unheeded 
bard, 
If thou but be a Poet true, 
Thy day must come ! Though yet the 
way Is hard 
As ever 't was with those that sue. 

Faith in thy Muse alone sustain thee 
while 

Oblivious fame is still asleep. 
At any time she may awake and smile ; 

What folly then for thee to weep ! 



125 



126 HEART OF GRACE, 

Sing on, sing on ! The numbers of thy 

songs, 

If not thy voice must wake her soon ; 

Then will it be her turn to mourn the 

wrongs 

Done to the lark, that sings at noon ! 



'' WHAT'S IN A NAME?" 

Can justice with compassion mate ? 
Can strength with pity play ? Say, friend, 
*T is as thou wilt : Wouldst thou prefer 
The semblance to the thing ? Or else 
The thing — with " semblance " to the 

dogs? 
This is the question of all politics. 
Though *' Liberty " is but a name ; yet 
Should it mean what 's real, and really 

dear, 
In its integrity unto the hearts of men. 



127 



THE GAME OF CHESS. 

I. 
This chess-board is the even grassy lawn 
For dress parade. A soldier is a pawn ; 
A knight is cavalry — a boomerang thing. 
The Queen is keeper of an infirm King, 
A monarch strangely subject to a scare. 
The sidelong bishops flank the royal pair. 
And out upon the checkered border-land 
Two watchful towers at the corner stand. 
Between these stretch the soldier-pawns in 

field, 
In line of battle like a moving shield. 

II. 

The sides are drawn and White begins to 

play, 

128 



THE GAME OF CHESS. 1 29 

Then quickly Black comes out and stops 

the way. 
Now a White venturous knight attacks 

the Black ; 
A bishop comes, the knight goes slowly 

back ; 
A castle moves, the Queen comes now in 

aid ; 
The Blacks (that should not venture) 

make a raid. 
The White King menaced, castles in a 

fright,— 
Yet now 't is changed — I am attacked by 

White. 

III. 
Now comes the fray, the battle of the mind, 
Down bent upon the board some plot to 

bind; 



130 THE GAME OF CHESS. 

To look into the fabricked web of thought, 
Discern the vantage point that must be 

caught, 
And from it build the structure of a mate; 
Find some weak fissure, and there storm 

the gate. 
Now here comes White again, but this is 

vain — 
Why that queer move ? there 's nothing 

there to gain. 
I 'm sure this player s overrated. 
What ! can it be ? but I 'm checkmated ! 



"OF TIME." 

Time is the noiceless axis of the Earth. 
The track on which our bodies run, 
Our hearts are different ; some souls 
Go on with life's Earth engine mate ; 
But others, like the smoke that living 

makes 
In a high spirit wind, are blown before. 
Yet these are few, while as 't is said. 
The greater number fall behind their 

earthly- 
Semblance in the flesh, and leave a grimy- 
Wake that for an instant marks their 

course — 
Forgotten when the morrow brings the 

rain. 

131 



132 OF TIME. 

The first short span is Human Life, 
Until we reach the cross-roads — Death. 
How ribald Time doth fool us in his 

sleeve : 
Fan the fair bloom from Beauty's cheek, 

then laugh 
To see the wreck : A raddled Harridan, 
Who still smiles at her glass — the last to 

credit 
The stale fact. How Time doth lash us 

with sharp pains, 
Set loose our teeth, snatch wisps of hair, 

dim eyes — 
And finally bend our backs toward earth 
To find the fittest place for burial. 

Time is a wandering Jew, that cannot 
Pause to rest ; and yet bestrides 
Us with his various usuries. 



OF TIME, 133 

Time is the refuge of the old man's brain 
In all the sweet still joys of memory, 
When action stores no more the chamber 
Of events, and space is covered up. 

Time heals or cuts again. Time's hair- 
spring probes 
Into the secret treasure of events ; 
As the lost Past was solved, so must 
The Future riddle-out what 's now, 
'T is patience only that can crane 
The slipp'ry neck of Time ; and steal 
A purchase in some deadly hope. 

Time is the publisher of facts 
And loveth downright truth. He doth 
Proclaim the good, expose the bad. 
Without discussion or make-shift — 
And sets us all to wondering ! 



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